Daughters Of The Bride. Susan Mallery

I got the notes back from my instructor, so I’m ready to move on to the final presentation.” Once she finished her marketing class, she was only two semesters away from graduation with her bachelor’s degree. Hallelujah.

      Joyce refilled her coffee cup from the carafe left at the table. “Quinn’s arriving next week.”

      Courtney grinned. “Really? Because you’ve only mentioned it every morning for the past two weeks. I wasn’t completely sure when he was getting here. You’re sure it’s next week? Because I couldn’t remember.”

      “I’m old. I get to be excited about my grandson’s arrival if I want to.”

      “Yes, you do. We’re all quivering.”

      Joyce’s mouth twitched. “You have a little attitude this morning, young lady.”

      “I know. It’s the Drunken Red-nosed Honeybees. I always get attitude when they take over the Anderson House. Gratitude attitude.”

      “Quinn’s still single.”

      Courtney didn’t know if she should laugh or snort. “That’s subtle. I appreciate the vote of confidence, Joyce, but let’s be honest. We both know I’d have a better shot at marrying Prince Harry than getting Quinn Yates to notice me.” She held up a hand. “Not that I’m interested in him. Yes, he’s gorgeous. But the man is way too sophisticated for the likes of me. I’m a small-town girl. Besides, I’m focused on college and my work. I have no free boy time.” She wanted her degree within the next year, then a great job and then men. Or a man. Definitely just one. The one. But that was for later.

      “You’ll date when you’re forty?” Joyce asked humorously.

      “I’m hoping it won’t take that long, but you get the idea.”

      “I do. It’s too bad. Quinn needs to be married.”

      “Then you should find him someone who isn’t me.”

      Not that Quinn wasn’t impressive, but jeez. Her? Not happening.

      She’d met him a handful of times when he’d come to visit his grandmother. The man was wildly successful. He was in the music business—a producer, maybe. She’d never paid attention. On his visits, he hung out with Joyce and her dogs, otherwise kept to himself, then left without making a fuss. Of course, the fuss happened without his doing a single thing other than show up.

      The man was good-looking. No, that wasn’t right. Words like good-looking or handsome should be used on ordinary people with extraordinary looks. Quinn was on a whole other plane of existence. She’d seen happily married middle-aged women actually simper in his presence. And to her mind, simpering had gone out of style decades ago.

      “You really think he’s moving to Los Lobos?” she asked, more than a little doubtful.

      “That’s what he tells me. Until he finds a place of his own, I’ve reserved the groundskeeper’s bungalow for him.”

      “Nice digs,” Courtney murmured. “He’ll never want to leave.”

      Although to be honest, she couldn’t imagine the famous, Malibu-living music executive finding happiness in their sleepy little Central California town, but stranger things had happened.

      “I’ll check his arrival date and make sure I’m assigned to clean it,” she told her boss.

      “Thank you, dear. I appreciate the gesture.”

      “It’s not exactly a gesture. It’s kind of my job.”

      While she was considered a jack-of-all-trades at the hotel, her actual title was maid. The work wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills, and right now that was what mattered to her.

      “It wouldn’t be if you’d—”

      Courtney held up her hand. “I know. Accept a different job. Tell my family about my big secret. Marry Prince Harry. I’m sorry, Joyce. There are only so many hours in a day. I need to have priorities.”

      “You’re picking the wrong ones. Prince Harry would love you.”

      Courtney smiled. “You are sweet and I love you.”

      “I love you, too. Now, about the wedding.”

      Courtney groaned. “Do we have to?”

      “Yes. Your mother is getting married in a few months. I know you’re taking care of the engagement party, but there’s also the wedding.”

      “Uh-huh.”

      Joyce raised her eyebrows. “Is that a problem?”

      “No, ma’am.”

      It wasn’t that Courtney minded her mother remarrying. Maggie had been a widow for literally decades. It was long past time for her mom to find a great guy and settle down. Nope, it wasn’t the marriage that was the problem—it was the wedding. Or rather the wedding planning.

      “You’re trying to get me into trouble,” she murmured.

      “Who, me?” Joyce’s attempt to look innocent failed miserably.

      Courtney rose. “All right, you crafty lady. I will do my best with both the party and the wedding.”

      “I knew you would.”

      Courtney bent down and kissed Joyce’s cheek, then straightened, turned and ran smack into Kelly Carzo—waitress and, until this second, a friend.

      Kelly, a pretty, green-eyed redhead, tried to keep hold of the tray of coffee mugs she’d been carrying, but the force was too great. Mugs went flying, hot liquid rained down, and in less than three seconds, Courtney, Joyce and Kelly were drenched, and the shattered remains of six mugs lay scattered on the floor.

      The restaurant had been relatively quiet before. Now it went silent as everyone turned to stare. At least there were only a couple of other customers and a handful of staff. Not that word of her latest mishap wouldn’t spread.

      Joyce stood and scooped Sarge out of harm’s way, then ordered Pearl to move back. “What is it your sister says in times like this?”

      Courtney pulled her wet shirt away from her body and smiled apologetically at Kelly. “That I’m ‘pulling a Courtney.’ You okay?”

      Kelly brushed at her black pants. “Never better, but you are so paying for my dry cleaning.”

      “I swear. Right after I help you with this mess.”

      “I’m going to get changed,” Joyce told them. “The prerogative of being the owner.”

      “I’m really sorry,” Courtney called after her.

      “I know, dear. It’s fine.”

      No, Courtney thought as she went to get a broom and a mop. It wasn’t fine. But it sure was her life.

      * * *

      “I want to match my dress. Just one streak. Mo-om, what could it hurt?”

      Rachel Halcomb pressed her fingers against her temple as she felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. The Saturday of Los Lobos High’s spring formal was always a crazy one for the salon where she worked. Teenage girls came in to be coiffed and teased into a variety of dance-appropriate styles. They traveled in packs, which she didn’t mind. But the high-pitched shrieks and giggles were starting to get to her.

      Her client—Lily—desperately wanted a bright purple streak to go with her floor-length dress. Her hair was long, wavy and a beautiful shade of auburn. Rachel had clients who would fork out hundreds to get that exact color, while Lily had simply hit the hair lottery.

      Lily’s mom bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know,” she said, sounding doubtful. “Your father will have a fit.”

      “It’s not his hair. And it’ll look great in the pictures. Come on, Mom. Aaron asked